


Just Tired (Of Being Alone)

by spiderboyneedsahug



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Bones' stress is everywhere, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Narada, Starfleet Academy, Uhura's not buying Jim's shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/pseuds/spiderboyneedsahug
Summary: After the Narada, stress has been building upon Kirk, piling upon him until it became somewhat normal. It wasn't something he could sustain.





	1. You Will Be Found

Kirk watches as Nero's face, lined with hatred and loss, fades from the viewscreen. Kirk aches all over, but he does his damnedest to keep standing. The singularity erupts in the otherwise peaceful space surrounding them. He orders nobody in particular to fire everything the broken _Enterprise_ still has in her at the imploding Narada. A scarily powerful wave of satisfaction rolls through his battered body and mind at the thought of Nero's impending death. The sensation doubles when he realises that the same weapon that killed Vulcan is going to kill Nero.  
  
And then everything, as per his luck, falls to shit around them. Nero's ship is sucked into the black hole, along with its bastard crew. Everything should be well. It isn't. The weakened _Enterprise_ is slowly being pulled into the singularity by the overwhelmingly strong gravity. Kirk stumbles a little in the centre of the bridge, as does Spock. They quickly move to grab something secure. As soon as Kirk grasps the arm of the captain's chair, he stares out into the ' _lightning storm in space_ ', wondering if this was how his dad felt when he died.  
  
He's already mentally apologising to everyone he has wronged in his life; mentally making peace with his impending doom. Then his comm chirps and suddenly death isn't looming over everyone's head. When the voice comes through his comm, he seriously considers kissing Scotty when this was over and they are safe. The Scotsman is a fucking godsend -- he really needs to thank Old Spock for forcing them together to get back to the _Enterprise_.  
  
Kirk listens to the rushed proposal, stomach climbing into his throat and brain whirling with thoughts. He orders -- no, he screams at Scotty to do it, do it, _do it_ and everyone is looking at him now. There's a big bruise on Sulu's cheek and a haunted look in Chekov's eyes. Kirk's expression tightens and he tenses. Pike is gonna kill him and Spock for scratching up the _Enterprise_. Kirk hysterically realises that the damage the _Enterprise_ already has is nothing on what they're about to do. He watches, uncharacteristically silent, as the warp cores are launched from the belly of the ship into the open, gaping wound in space.  
  
For a few paralysing seconds, the world is still. And then it erupts into light and colour, the once-glorious starship rocketing away from where the Narada once stood.  
  
The aftershocks of the explosion gently subside and he watches from the viewscreen as they slowly put distance between themselves and the ethereal blue of their decimated warp core, jettisoned into the artificial black hole. Kirk lets out a huge exhale. He sees most on the Bridge doing the same thing.  
  
Kirk watches, satisfied, as the remains of the Narada are sucked into the singularity made by the red matter and they miraculously escape being pulled into the event horizon. He lets himself slump in his chair slightly, tension bleeding from his posture.  
  
He hears quiet murmurs from the crew on the Bridge, the voices hushed and relieved. It almost feels like the entire ship had breathed a collective sigh of relief and they are finally letting themselves rest from Nero's rampage. His fingers make an aborted twitch in his exhaustion, the bruised and weary hand moving to massage his temple to soothe the onset of a migraine. He sighs.  
  
Well this has been shit. Billions dead at the hands of a depraved Romulan from _the future_. Who the hell in their right mind can conceive something as insane as his day has been?  
  
Almost immediately after the Narada was crushed by the black hole, there is a huge lull in activity across the battered _Enterprise_ as the adrenaline faded and rest was sought. The inside of Kirk's brain feels like someone took a grater to it and went nuts. In fact, that's how he feels all over.  
  
Waves of distress lap at his mind when he realises that restful thinking and sleep are a distant concept. If he rests he can think properly, can process what had happened over the past day. He knows 'coping' isn't going to happen. The distress call, seeing six of seven Starfleet ships decimated, the implosion of Vulcan, the meld with the old Spock, having the shit beaten from him by Spock, being beamed into a hellhole filled with Romulans, having his ass handed to him by the Romulan who killed his father and the same Romulan's first officer...  
  
He hasn't had a good day is a _vast_ understatement, but he knows that all the remaining cadets and Vulcans have lost entire families to Nero's madness. His loss is nothing.  
  
Almost hysterically, he remembers that his trauma is felt not only by his person but by the Elder Spock as well. That mind meld had been _crazy_ for him, a psi-null human. He isn't gonna be calling Spock emotionless any time soon, because _sweet jesus_ , that was intense. An entire universe of information, emotion and memories all within a few seconds. It's sorta amusing that during the meld, he had picked up that Spock, a Vulcan, had been openly more happy seeing Kirk than Kirk has ever been on his own. His head spins thinking about it all.  
  
He doesn't want to think. Thinking only brings him pain. Looks like he can add more severe mental trauma to the long list of _fuckery_ that is his life. Kirk groans quietly, keeping his head down. His throat scratches like someone has rubbed it raw with gravel.  
  
The losses of the battle against Nero are finally hitting home for most people, and across the _Enterprise_ , Kirk's crew -- it's still weird for him to call them _Kirk's_ crew -- are breaking down under the weight of their emotions; under the loss of their friends and family.  
  
Kirk, as Acting Captain, is left working. Really. Fucking. _Hard_. And constantly. He's working harder than he can recall ever working before. Casualty reports and ship status reports are flooding his PADD, and he keeps slaving away, blocking the out the world around him with his efforts. He realises belatedly that he isn't allowing himself to feel the overwhelming grief he should feel at the loss of so many friends, of so many lives. He hasn't let himself really experience it and begin dealing with it, and has instead flung himself into his work headfirst, almost in an attempt to drown out the overwhelming loss of his first - unofficial - mission. Kirk taps his fingers against his leg, looking around the bridge. They're all working as hard as he is, maybe even harder.  
  
He briefly recalls how he isn't even meant to be aboard the _Enterprise_. Kirk ponders the consequences of his actions, wondering if saving Earth and numerous other Federation planets will be worth anything when his ass gets hauled in front of the Admiralty.  
  
Some days, Kirk roams the halls of the _Enterprise_ like a ghost. He's always pale now. Bones always looks concerned when he talks to Kirk, casting side glances and looking sorrowful. Truth be told, Kirk isn't okay. He can't sleep without watching someone die and he constantly feels small. Even Uhura and _Spock_ are beginning to look at him weirdly.  
  
As he travels around the ship overseeing departments, he sees that everybody is either grieving or drowning their pain in their work, shutting out the world around them. Nobody else aboard the _Enterprise_ has experienced loss this severe or this intense in their lifetimes. And they shouldn't have to. He feels a brief, consuming wave of hatred towards the Romulans who killed so many, who took so much. There's a smaller, more guilty wave of hatred at the bastards who took his dad before he could know him.  
  
The loss of billions of Vulcans and his fellow cadets, borne of the loss of Romulus. Neither could've been stopped, yet both could've been prevented. Both failures on the behalf of Federation planets. Really, it is a vicious cycle. Kirk feels himself slump, grief knotting the muscles in his back.  
  
Kirk has experienced loss somewhat similar to his current predicament, with... _Tarsus_... and everything leading up to it and after it, but witnessing a mass genocide first hand isn't exactly something he can get used to. It isn't something _anyone_ can get used to.  
  
Another wave of hatred passes through him, strong enough to make his stomach churn, as he realises that so many young lives are going to be scarred permanently by the loss of so many lives. He snaps back to reality when his anger nearly snaps the stylus in his hand. He forces himself to relax his grip, to pull that annoyingly empty expression back onto his face.  
  
He's the Acting Captain now, and happy about it or not, he can't afford to be so affected by his emotions. A captain is meant to be strong, infallible. He can't be either if he lets his feelings get ahead of him. He forces his neutral façade back up and begins working again, letting the hum of the _Enterprise_ 's engines soothe his ragged nerves.  
  
His almost aggravated manner of working and his taciturn social manner continue throughout the _Enterprise_ 's annoyingly long voyage home. Starting as soon as he wakes up on the couch of Bones' quarters - all the others are occupied by the survivors of Vulcan and he _certainly_ doesn't deserve those - he eats a small breakfast and immediately begins to work quietly. He acts polite whenever he is asked a question, whether it's a nameless Ensign or Spock regarding the ship's status, and waves off anyone who asks him how he was coping between his injuries - boy, he has collected a shit ton of those - and his mental health. He doesn't exactly want to have more concerned people chasing his ass over silly little things that are an unimportant as he is. Bones has enough concern to care for an entire army, anyway. And that concern is focused _entirely_ on Kirk! Bones might as well just bubble-wrap Kirk and lock him in a padded room, for god's sake! Besides, he can't work at his best level if people are too concerned about his health to let him.  
  
When they dock on Earth, Kirk just feels empty. Disturbingly so. He's so tired and lethargic that Bones has to half drag him around -- everyone looks at him like he's a ghost. He feels like one. When he takes his first step back on fresh Terran soil, he thinks he'll feel relieved to feel the ground of his home planet simply because he's been shown how easily he could lose even that. But he feels nothing. He lets Bones drag him towards the Academy campus and away from the media coverage of Earth's saviours. They're like vultures, picking at and tearing Kirk apart. The emptiness -- shock, he realises abruptly -- is painful and it eats him alive and he doesn't know how to make it _stop_.  
  
When the Admiralty calls them all up individually for debriefing, he's absolutely terrified to face the people who can easily kick him out of Starfleet and send him back to the purposeless void that was his life before he had met Pike. And terrified he is -- these people gave his life purpose and they can easily strip it away from him. He's scared and he doesn't realise it until Bones takes him out of the debriefing room to try and coax him out of his panic attack. He's always hollow or drowning. He hangs onto Bones' words like they're the only things keeping him above the water.  
  
Kirk isn't dealing with his feelings and he knows it's because of all the emotions he is forcing to the back of his mind. Kirk is much too weak to experience the feelings now, either. Until he can start sleeping again, he's screwed. So he lets Bones calm him and lead him back after he forces his blank expression back up. He notices Bones' frown when he does it, but the doctor doesn't comment on it so neither will he.  
  
Throughout the period of time the Admiralty spends grilling his ass for answers about how they beat Nero, he keeps up his blank, orderly mask, answering questions when needed and accepting punishments without argument. It's hard to restrain his smile when a few Admirals look as though they have seen a ghost -- they haven't seen him being respectful. Kirk wonders why they look like they're about to off themselves -- he has acted as the polite Cadet they wanted him to be when he joined the Academy. They wanted George Kirk mark II, and he didn't give them that at the time. But now? It would be amusing if the situation isn't so bad. It all goes surprisingly well in his debriefings -- that is, at least, until he is ordered back to the Academy to finish his remaining classes. He figures with all the rules and regulations he has broken, he's getting off lightly. He bites his tongue, stands, bows slightly and thanks them for their time before quietly exiting the room. He finds Bones waiting for him and a small smile edges onto his face.  
"Come on, kid." Those are the words that release the tension from Kirk who crushes his friend in a hug before they head back to their dorm to sleep. And if he cries a little in his sleep, it isn't a huge problem.  
  
  
Kirk keeps up his radically different behaviour as he starts his first day back at the Academy after the Narada mess. Bones looks impressed, Chekov and Sulu look surprised and Uhura looks like she's a few seconds from passing out. Really, he does it for Bones and Pike. Seriously. When Pike first sees him, the _pride_ in his expression nearly makes Kirk cry. He tells Pike everything. "You've done good, son." Pike tells him. Kirk actually does sniffle a little here -- nobody has ever called him 'son' with so much meaning. Bones ushers Kirk out after a while. He's still giddy about being called 'son'.  
  
When he comes down from _that_ , he's pissed that, despite his field promotion, he's being forced back to the Academy to complete his classes. Then he remembers that, yeah, he could've been kicked out of Starfleet all together, so this isn't too bad.  
  
But still.  
  
He, personally, finds it hilarious every time he's formal and respectful to his instructors in his classes and somebody freaks their shit because of it.  
  
It's even funnier in a perverse and kinda twisted way for him to realise that his behaviour, to them, is completely unexpected. Nobody has seen past the cocky, arrogant front he used to wear throughout the Academy and now the mask is off, people are seeing him for who he is. Looking back on his behaviour, he can hardly even remember why he established that front in the first place. Probably something to do with his people issues. It doesn't matter now anyways.  
  
Nothing really matters now. His previous behaviour has been uprooted and starting anew doesn't seem too bad an idea for him.  
  
No longer having to uphold his front, he simply acts how he wants to act. It's relieving to no longer uphold his cocky exterior and be able to work as himself. He feels lighter. But he's still blocking out the horror of the Narada incident, working around it. Well, not working around it. Waiting for the metaphorical poison to cure itself. Ignoring it.  
  
Blocking out what had happened isn't exactly his healthiest coping mechanism for this type of disaster, but he really doesn't think there _is_ a good way of managing this level of trauma. Even Bones, whose profession revolves around managing trauma, looks haunted sometimes. He's coping with his grief. Kirk isn't. He stretches his muscles taut and clenches his jaw.  
  
Kirk has experienced trauma similar to this before, on Tarsus, and it fucked him up. _Royally_. He knows he can't allow the wounds Nero had wrought to fester, but at this point in time Kirk knows he is too stressed, too fragile to strain himself much further. He's only human, and all humans have their limit of how much they can handle before reaching their breaking point.  
  
It's only going to be a matter of time before everything he isn't trying to repress, but isn't trying to acknowledge, will be forced to resurface so his mind can heal. He just needs to keep pushing that time further and further back until he isn't working his ass off at the Academy to prove he's worth Captaincy again, until he can break down by himself and nobody will see it. He can do it. It can't be that hard.  
  
Except, apparently, it _is_ going to be that hard.  
  
It has been a reasonably normal day when it happens. He wakes up early, almost with the sun, eats a small breakfast alone and arrives at his classes earlier than most, setting up equipment and opening the files he would need. His class is barren, empty of life asides from himself.  
  
God, his classes. Most of his classmates have been killed, slaughtered as Nero wrought down his twisted judgement upon thousands of Starfleet's best officers and billions of Vulcan lives. His classes are always deserted now, few remaining alive within the Command Track. Even the instructors who taught the classes, - if they aren't dead - are no longer in attendance. Most have been redirected to the areas of Starfleet that have suffered the most heavily under Nero's attack, mostly towards the Neutral Zone. The Federation is having to use every available officer at its disposal, even resorting to pulling them out of the Academy.  
  
With the majority of Academy instructors either elsewhere or dead, it falls onto the shoulders of the most senior cadets to teach the others. Kirk himself volunteers to teach many tactical classes and Command Track classes. It helps that he already knows most of what he teaches _and_ he has gained brief field experience, therefore making him somewhat of an invaluable asset during Starfleet's frenzied movement of officers.  
  
He knows that Uhura is having to lead her Communications class, with the previous instructor dead. He knows that Bones is pulling a shit-ton of overtime at Medical to help with the huge influx of injured patients in the aftermath of Nero.  
  
It's weird in his eyes that the biggest shows of unity are only presented after a disaster. Everybody is working with each other, helping each other, and it baffles Kirk to no end. Before Nero, working at the Academy was strikingly similar to a high school. Everybody belonged to their own clique and would hardly stray out to assist others. But this? It's possibly one of the biggest shows of unity Kirk has ever seen.  
  
And it only took a genocide to pull it off.  
  
Kirk is pulled out of his exhausted reverie by a gentle clap on the shoulder, quickly displacing him back into reality.  
  
He looks up into a pair of exhausted and slightly concerned hazel eyes.  
"Hey, Jim." Bones yawns, stretching halfheartedly. "You alright?"  
  
Kirk pauses, considering the older man's question. No, he isn't alright. He is the opposite of alright. But it isn't interfering with how he taught, so Bones doesn't really need to know. It isn't harming anyone asides from himself, and he can't afford to be out of action.  
  
"I'm good, Bones." Then, almost as an afterthought, "Why?"  
"You were sorta lost in your head there, infant." Kirk frowns at the weak insult, shooting a glare at the older man. "Besides, more people are kicking their heads into gear and getting here, so you'd better be prepared." Kirk checks his PADD, noting that all his required files are available for use.  
"Yeah, I'm ready, Bones. Have been for a while." Kirk pauses, considering his next thoughts. "Was just waiting for you slow-asses."  
"Calm it, Jim. Not everyone is an ungodly early bird like you are."  
  
Kirk has missed this. He's missed the barbed banter he can trade with his best friend and doctor and he's missed the easy camaraderie between them.  
  
"Not an ungodly early bird as you put it so eloquently, Bones, just conditioned to early mornings."  
"Conditioned to early mornings my ass, do you know how many times I had to wake you up in time for your classes?"  
"But I was tired then." He isn't whining. He's responsible now, and whining is unbecoming of an aspiring Captain. Bones smirks. Kirk pouts and sits on the desk at the front of the lecture theatre.  
  
He is _totally_ whining _.  
  
_ "Yeah, tired from having your ass kicked every goddamn night."  
  
Kirk pauses, weighing up the statement. Yes, he did get in a lot of fights during his three years at the Academy. He shrugs in lieu of words, the unspoken 'I guess' ringing loud between them.  
"You should sit down, Bones. I got a class to teach."  
  
He watched as his friend approaches his seat, settling down as the last few students filter into the room. Kirk perches on the front desk of the nearly empty lecture theatre, grief clogging his throat.  
  
He clears his throat loudly, shaking off the painful reminder that, yes, most of the people he knows are died.  
  
It is gonna be a _long_ day for him. _ _  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
__ Kirk steps out of his class, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. He has a newfound respect for all his -- dead -- professors. It is hell to teach a class of geniuses, and he's teaching less than 70 people when his professors could teach hundreds. Now, he isn't shy of the stage at all. But he is teaching a class of potential Einsteins and suffering from insomnia and recurring nightmares. He's going to slip up in his teaching at some point. It's a miracle Bones hasn't stealth-sedated him yet. That man is a damned _menace_ with a hypospray.  
  
Kirk abruptly pauses his walk, Bones slamming into him.  
"Jim, what the fuck? Why'd you stop?" The older man's drawl has grown thicker in his apparent annoyance, and Kirk would've raised an eyebrow if he wasn't interrupted suddenly by a jaw popping yawn.  
"Jim?" If Bones is trying to hide his concern beneath his gruff attitude, it isn't working.  
"We're goin' Tactical Analysis now, righ'?" He isn't deflecting the concern pointed at him. Bones gives him a look that demands answers, so Kirk just shrugs.  
"Yeah, but are you okay? That yawn was impressive." Bones says with a snort. Kirk has the decency to flush. The sun beats down on him and the quiet hum of conversation carries to Kirk's ears.  
"'m fine, Bones." He slurs, finality lacing his tone.  
"If you say so, kid." His hair gets affectionately ruffled and a dopey but genuine smile crawls onto Kirk's face.  
As they walk in quiet unison to their now-shared Tactical Analysis class -- Bones has decided that being CMO means he can keep Jim safer from threats and careless doctors who haven't read his allergy list -- Jim silently marvels at how natural it feels to be side by side with his friend. A gentle smile softens his features into something unequivocally happy; not the false happiness he wears like a badge most of the time.  
"Hey, Bones?" He quietly begins, tired eyes bouncing around their surroundings.  
"Yeah, kid?" Kirk smiles at the endearment.  
"Thank you." He earnestly murmurs, refusing to make eye contact. He presses his fingers to his palms, lightly scratching the skin.  
"For what?" Confusion. Understandable, really, as Kirk's statement is completely random.  
  
Kirk merely shakes his head, quickening his pace towards their now-shared class. He turns towards McCoy, grinning.  
"C'mon, Bones! This class can't get started without us! We're practically tactical gods to these guys!" He didn't mean for his cocky persona to slip back up, but he supposes it's bound to happen every now and then at some point.  
  
He grins as he hears Bones muttering about cocky bastards.  
"I hope you're not talking about me!" He calls, not caring for the questioning looks he is garnering from other cadets.  
"Don't pretend you don't enjoy it, kid!" Comes the responding yell. Kirk pauses, waiting for the country doctor to catch up to him.  
"Getting old, Bones?" He knows he's being obnoxious and annoying. He's being obnoxious and annoying to give Bones the strongest sense of normalcy he can. He'll always be like this if it means that Bones could have some semblance of their lives before Nero. Even if Kirk hates doing it.  
  
He laughs when Bones shoots him a withering glare. Kirk still feels like a ghost; just two steps from fading completely, but being near Bones has helped him.  
"Let's go on in, Bonesy!" He mock-whispers, pushing the double doors to their Tactical Analysis class open. Much to Kirk's relief, they've arrived early and only a few people heard their animated banter. They pick secluded seats close to the front and settled in whilst other cadets, bleary-eyed and emotionally lost, trickle into the lecture theatre. The weary instructor walks in to the melancholy room, moving all attention to the front of the theatre where the professor stands. As they begin talking, a dull, droning sound, Kirk's attention sputters out, only half focused on the talking at hand. He halfheartedly glances at the projected holo at the front of the room; a battered ship facing an enemy vessel. His thoughts drift elsewhere. His mind halts when it drifts towards the Narada incident and he takes an imperceptible sigh. His mind continues to wonder, thoughts of how he would be punished for the Kobayashi Maru simulation, when Bones smacks him lightly on the shoulder, glaring.  
"Cadet Kirk." The sharp voice echoes through the room and his spine straightens automatically, coming to attention.  
"Yes, sir?" He notices how every pair of eyes in the room are on him and a small flare of anxiety licks at his stomach.  
"As I was saying, in this situation, what would you do?"  
"What would I do?" He glances again at the holo showing the same battered ship and vessel, "Well, I think that if ceasefire negotiations between vessels had failed, warping away would be our best chance of peacefully resolving the situation. However, looking the extensive damage to the exterior of the ship, I can only imagine how the warp drive is faring. So, in lieu of warping away, our best option would most likely be to go on the defensive whilst avoiding attacking the enemy vessel." He explains, the words flowing smoothly from his brain to his mouth.  
  
Tactics -- one of the few things that he never had to try in. His brain is oddly hardwired to understand situations so he can escape them. That skill is finally being put to purposeful use.  
  
"And why is that?" Despite the stern tone of the instructor's voice, he can hear slight undertones of curiosity. Feeling bolstered, Kirk continues.  
"It wouldn't do us any good if we were to attack the ship. Either the ship fights back and we get blown to hell, or we destroy the ship and cause an all-out war," and then, as a sign of his respect, "Sir."  
"Nice job, kid." Bones hushedly whispers in his ear. Kirk smiles a little and watches as the professor proceeds to interrogate another exhausted cadet. While in the end the cadet does stutter out an answer, the professor doesn't seemed satisfied with it and proceeds to poke a hole in the strategy presented. Jim almost feels bad for the kid, who has gone as pale as a ghost and eventually stammers out an answer that is deemed acceptable. When the interrogation ends, the cadet notably slumps in his seat, obviously on edge. Kirk barely resists the urge to snort in laughter -- this professor is terrifying everyone. The class continues that way, hapless cadets being interrogated for no apparent reason until it finishes and he is basically asleep. Bones smacks his arm -- really hard, actually -- and tells him to get the hell up. The class is now empty of both students and professor. Kirk's cheeks burn. Reluctantly, he stands and heads with McCoy back to their shared dorm. When they arrive, Kirk's brain finally decides to kick into high gear. Questions flood his mind and he starts twitching.  
"Wait, Bones, we have more classes, don't we-" He begins sharply, his understanding of McCoy's actions eluding him completely. Kirk is stressing now and a light-headed sensation descends on him.  
"Nope. Your ass is taking a _break_ ," Kirk glares at the doctor, irritation obvious, "because you look like death warmed over."  
"But Bones, I have to-" When he is cut off again he growls in frustration, tired hands raising to pull at his blonde hair. Bones swats his hands down from his head.  
"Besides, I've been worried about this for a while. You're not letting yourself rest, Jim. Hell, you were yawning all throughout your class! If that's not a sign you're tired, what is? So I went to Pike about it-" Kirk noticeably jolts and goes pale. Pike is going to kill him for not taking care of himself. He whips around to stare incredulously at Bones, "- and he pulled some strings. You're off academic duty for the rest of today, kid."  
"Seriously? I've been looking bad so I'm not allowed to study? I have classes to teach, do you know how hard it's gonna be to get someone to stand in for me at such short notice?" Kirk deadpans, staring at McCoy who unflinchingly stares back.  
"Yes, Jim. Don't worry, it's under control. I've had it planned out for a while." McCoy's tone grows tender, as if talking to something infinitely precious, and a warm hand gently smooths down his hair and pulls him into the shared dorm. Kirk practically melts at the touch, not being used to being handled delicately.  
  
As soon as he's pulled into the sanctuary of their dorm, a splitting yawn escapes his lungs. His exhaustion becomes all the more prominent to. Kirk's eyelids droop and his knees start to tremble -- he's been overworking himself for so long. When Bones gives him his patented I-told-you-so look, Kirk scowls at him.  
  
"M'kay, I'll sleep. But you gotta stay." He murmurs as Bones leads him to his bed and sits him down, the warm hands pulling and pushing his tired limbs into a more comfortable position on his bunk.  
"Sorry, kid," Bones' tone grows apologetic and the warm hand is carding through his hair, and damn, that feels good. If he melted into the touch before then this is something else entirely. Sluggishly, he tilts his head upwards on his pillow, turning to face his friend.  
"Why can't you stay?" Kirk slurs tiredly, leaning into the comforting touch. A small part of him is mortified at being so needy, but this is _Bones_. If he can be needy near anyone, it's Bones.  
"I gotta go to Medical to work. And I gotta prep for my graveyard shift. They still need my help, I guess." He feels more than he sees McCoy's shrug and his shoulder twitches in replacement of his own.  
"Jus' don't wear yourself out, 'kay?" He understands that he is being really hypocritical about it but he doesn't want his friend to drop from his workload. It isn't fun. Kirk yawns again, fingers curling to grasp the pillow his tired head lies on. He scrunches his face when gentle fingers ruffle his hair affectionately.  
"Okay, kid. Now go to sleep."  
"'Kay. See ya soon, B'nes." He murmurs, turning his head into the pillow. When he hears the click of their door closing, Jim closes his eyes, surrendering to his exhaustion.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He comes to awareness slowly, disorientated and alone. He can't name where he is, but it's really dark and a seemingly endless respite for his exhausted mind. A gentle pressure is present in his mind, an anchoring warmth, and he finally registers that wherever he is, he must be sleeping. Brief memories of the Academy, the Narada and Bones flit through his mind and his hand twitches in remembrance of his past few weeks. He focuses on his memories of Bones; Bones' comforting touch and sleepy accent. A small pulse of happiness laps at the shore of his mind, bringing a drowsy smile to his face as he slumbers peacefully in their shared dorm.  
  
Whatever messed up plane of unconsciousness he's finding himself trapped within at the moment, he's mostly fine with it. He's by himself and it's quiet. He can work with that.  
  
He is happy in the silence of his mind, sleepily contented. A small sense of foreboding creeps up on him but he ignores it in favour of snuggling up to the warm memories of Bones. Then the warmth is gone, replaced with a heavy, icy pressure. The quiet he had found so much solace in has become something suffocating, oppressing, and a well of fear involuntarily bubbles up in his throat. He gulps silently in an attempt to swallow the weighty emotions down, to hide them once again. He is trapped, the ominous feeling of being alone, of being isolated choking him. He wants out.  
  
Kirk wants _out_.  
  
He needs out of this place. He needs to wake up and get away from the darkness that lurks in his mind and room. It's easier said than done and he distantly feels his fingers gripping his pillow in a futile attempt to drag himself out of this nightmare. He can't wake up, he belatedly realises. Much to his consternation, all the emotions that he has locked up and hidden are coming loose and he doesn't know how to make it stop. He can't make it stop.  
  
It won't stop.  
  
Kirk can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel sweat trickling down his temple as everything he has suppressed -- Nero, the loss of Vulcan, that crazy mind meld and the attempts on his life -- force their way to the front of his mind. It's too much for his fragile, strained psyche to handle. He is swamped with the heady panic of when Nero killed Vulcan, the mind-numbing pain of the meld, the potent fear of when Spock tried to kill him.  
  
He doesn't want to watch it again.  
  
Warm tears begin to hesitantly trail down his face -- if his emotions weren't so fucked he would be horrified by his lapse in control and it doesn't matter that he's asleep -- as he is forced to relive the horror of Nero's attack again and experience his dread again as if he was there. He immediately wishes that Bones could be there beside him so he didn't have to feel so alone and so scared and so wrong.  
  
It's like he is young all over again, watching his world falling apart all by himself. The resemblance makes him sick, the anxiety licking his insides whilst the panic numbs his mind.  
  
His frame is wracked with small tremors and he still feels so _wrong_ and he doesn't want to go through all that pain again. His hitching breaths grow strangled as every sensation he had felt while Spock was choking him out on the console flash through his mind, crystal clear. The desperation, -- _he doesn't want to die, he can't fail all of Earth by dying and he doesn't want to fail Bones, his_ daughter _is on Earth_ \-- the fear -- _oh god, Spock isn't gonna stop, he's going to kill him_ \-- and the regret -- _he wishes Spock could know that he never meant to desecrate his mother's memory like that_ \-- all make him feel dangerously ill. He doesn't want to be here. He can't be here. He wants to see Bones, he wants Bones to just reassure him and tell him that he is okay and he is safe and everything is behind him. But Bones isn't there. A small sob - he isn't sure if it's in his head or out loud and he can't bring himself to care - tears itself from his lungs and he lets all his emotions that he had pent up to fester to pull itself from the dark corner of Jim's mind where it has been residing.  
  
Jim wakes up with a quiet sob, hot tears still trailing down his face and his rampant emotions tearing his mind apart. He shakily pulls himself upright and tucked his head between his knees, hands grasping weakly at his mussed hair in a failing attempt at grounding himself. Miserably, Kirk realises he's alone in the room, the atmosphere crushing and leaden with anxiety.  
  
Breathy little noises are coming out of Kirk freely now and his chest feels as if someone is standing on it, compressing it. He can't breathe. The room is suffocating. It has become too small with Jim's violent tide of emotions taking up so much space and he hardly feels he can breath. He quickly stumbles out of his bed and onto his feet, sparing a quick glance down at himself to see the uniform he had fell asleep in. It is disheveled and undoubtedly covered in his sweat. Kirk pulls a face and runs a weary hand through his messy blonde hair, shuffling over to his wardrobe and plucking out an outfit of simple jeans and a worn flannel shirt whilst removing the gross uniform he wears. The room is too small. He feels like if he moves he'll end up hitting a wall.  
  
Now dressed and admittedly feeling less dirty, Kirk pauses and considers his next course of action. The emotions from his nightmare - _panicfeardread_ \- and the resultant panic attack still are at the front of his mind, refusing to be pushed back down to the recesses where they have dwelled and the room grows dark with their presence. Kirk shakes his head as if he can physically remove the feelings and exhales a shaky breath. Bones. He can go see Bones. He's working late at Medical and Jim could wait for him to finish his work. Jim lurches for the PADD that lies on his bedside cabinet and unlocks it, checking the time. Kirk's eyebrows fly to his hairline upon realising the chronometer reads  _23_ : _47_. He absently wonders how long he had slept properly before the nightmare began. Kirk shakes his head again and tucks the PADD away into his pocket, shooting to his feet and towards the door, almost as if he can't get away from the oppressive silence and heavy air of the room fast enough.  
  
The door silently swishes open as he approaches and after Kirk locks the door, he doesn't look back. The block of dorms that they were situated in is nearly barren at this time of night, life few and far between. A painful reminder of how many died in the Narada mission. Kirk clenches his fist and walks just a little bit faster. His heart is still pounding away in his chest and his breathing is just a little too ragged to be normal.  
  
The first thing he notices when he pushes open the doors that lead to the Academy Campus is damn, it's cold. It nips at his underprotected body; the wind rushes in through his sleeves. A bit hysterically, he thinks that it's near midnight and he's come out without any protection from the cold. Great. Yet another oversight. Impulsive behaviours have yet again messed him up. He keeps walking anyway, unwilling to go back into his dorm alone. He shouldn't have gone to sleep, he should've waited until he was so exhausted that he couldn't dream. His feet carry his absent mind towards Medical and Kirk firmly sets his eyes on his goal. He resolutely ignores how the shadows twist and curl around him, flickering in and out of sight as he approaches and passes the street lights illuminating the campus. They dance behind his eyelids like fireflies. The gushing of wind brushing by trees harmonises with the whispers of his paranoid mind and if Kirk's other fist clenches, it isn't anyone else's business.  
  
It's stupid of him, really, to expect that just because he is exhausted that the nightmares will leave him alone, even if for only one night. In fact, his unconscious distress is probably caused by his -- _stupid_ \-- repression of the Narada incident. That is just too much shit for him to keep locked up in his mind. In fact, the way his mind is working is eerily similar to the manner in which a wound would work a foreign body back out to force the healing process. Maybe that's what it's doing.  
  
Impact, raise, impact, raise. He pays attention to the rhythmic beats of his footsteps. It's soothing.  
  
It totally isn't reminiscent of him running from the hengrauggi on Delta Vega.  
  
Not thinking sounds like a great idea. Kirk snaps out of his tired reverie when the illuminated frame of Medical comes into view. A small, strained smile comes to his face and his pace quickens further as the looming building grows larger. As he nearly runs into the building, the doors open for him and he is temporarily blinded by the luminous lights and pristine walls of the San Francisco Medical centre. The sanitary smell of Medical is a pleasant change to his nose, accustomed to the scent of his own panic. Nervousness crawls through his bones and he can hear his heartbeat hammering in chest again. He inhales shallowly through his nose. He probably looks like a mess.  
  
To his pleasant surprise, the waiting room is next to empty and the few people that are waiting are almost comatose with their tiredness. The receptionist looks almost bored with the complete slump of activity. A quiet snort leaves Kirk's lips -- he would be bored too, to be honest. Kirk thinks that he vaguely recognises her -- he's spent a lot of time in and out of medical in his three years at the academy. He silently walks up to the desk and waits for her to look up. When she does, her eyebrow quirks up slightly at his disheveled state. Kirk takes a breath, composing his rattled nerves and scattered thoughts.  
"I'd like to know if Doctor McCoy is available?" He's proud of how composed his voice is and how it doesn't tremble like he fears it will. He can still hear his heartbeat in his ears.  
"I'm sorry, but Doctor McCoy was pulled into an emergency surgery recently. If your meeting is an urgent one, we can have another Doctor hold an appointment with you, or if you'd like, we can pass a message along to him?" Her voice is quiet and sweet and he nearly misses half of what she says while his dazed mind fawns over the honeyed tone. She's probably talking like that for a reason -- she's speaking like she would to a wounded animal. Kirk isn't sure if he's offended or not.  
"Uh, no, no thanks. I knew he was on duty, I just wanted to talk to him real quick, but that's not important," he stutters, huffing a quiet, self deprecating laugh, "just, uh, forget that- just- thanks for your time, and I'll, um, I'll go now. Sorry." So much for keeping the panic out of his voice. He knows he's mumbling and the receptionist probably can't hear him properly, but that didn't stop him from nearly running out of the clinic. The urge to run, to survive, gives his shaky legs the energy they need to move. He feels like his legs are gonna buckle straight away, but they don't so he keeps going.  
  
It is _ridiculous_ , he thinks scornfully. It's just a bad dream, one borne of his rampant stress and the panic he neatly locked up in his mind after Nero. He needs to deal with it himself. He doesn't need to disturb Bones, the man is tending to things and people much more important than _him_.  
  
But still, the nervous energy thrums through his veins, sitting on his chest like a weight. He feels like he can't breath. But Bones is stressed and almost certainly tired. So he won't disturb him. He'll just go back to his suffocatingly empty dorm, try to get the sleep he needs for the following day. He just needs to get back there and have nobody disturb-  
  
"Hey, Kirk!"  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
At the call, Kirk's head snaps upright, eyes wildly searching for the source of the voice. When his eyes landed on the approaching form of Uhura, he forces himself to relax a little. No matter how hard he tries, he can't quite force the rigidity from his posture fully. Much to his annoyance, it never fully abates. He fucking _hates_ that it has to be now, has to be this time in his life where the nightmares return with a vengeance. He has so much work to do, so much to prove of himself and he'll never pass psych evals if he can't even sleep a full night. Kirk drifts back to reality, knowing who he has to hide his trauma from: a linguist -- trained in reading many languages, including body language.  
  
Great. He is so _fucked_.  
  
As she approaches Kirk's mind flounders, his ability to speak coherently and function like a normal person deserting him. The nightmare has thrown him so far off-kilter that he can hardly even see ' _normal_ ' within his range of behaviour. He jolts briefly, peering at the woman standing next to him. Uhura halts before him, wrapped up in coat and scarf, and glances inquisitively up at him. He takes this as his cue to speak.  
"Uh, hey! What are you doing up this late?" He pushes the panic out of his voice, forcing the same expression of normalcy upon his face, despite how strained it feels, how fake he feels.  
  
He has done it before at the Academy, for three _years_ at that. She was still a linguist then and she hadn't read between the lines of his behaviour yet, hasn't seen who he really is beneath his mask. What's one conversation?  
  
"Could ask the same of you. What were you doing?" He nearly misses Uhura's question over his internal turmoil. When he actually catches it, his panic redoubles in his gut, nearly swallowing him whole. He remembers that Uhura had seen him wondering around aboard the Enterprise in the aftermath of the incident. She's seen him pale as a ghost and just as haunted. He gulps and clenches his fist.  
"Oh. I, uh, I just wanted to have a chat with Bones about something. But he's- he can't- he's, uh, he's on duty right now. So I'll wait." Then, as an afterthought, "You?"  
"Enjoying the calm. Needed to-"  
"-Clear your head?" Kirk finishes wryly. He understands that. It is late and nearly nobody is roaming the Academy campus. The white noise of hovercars and muted chatter block out the turmoil in his head.  
"Needed to gather my thoughts." She corrects him, a slight smirk gracing her features. When Kirk only hums neutrally in response, she pauses, eyebrows furrowing and takes a real, close look at the man stood before her.  
  
To her utmost surprise, he is pale, trembling nearly imperceptibly, visibly shaken. His blown pupils, ragged breathing and excessive stuttering point to one thing in her head. Panic attack. A small wave of concern washes over her as Kirk's fidgeting continues under her scrutiny. But what can bring a man like Kirk, a man who has stared down a crazed genocidal Romulan without flinching, the same Romulan who killed his _father_ to such abject panic? She's never seen Kirk so blatantly distressed and it's obvious that something dark is brewing beneath his surface. She thinks that he's struggling with something, but she can't figure what it is. Actually, she thinks he's dealing with the events of the Narada incident still, but she doesn't know for sure. For someone as loud and open as Kirk seems, she's beginning to think he keeps more secrets than she knows. Kirk fidgets still, refusing to meet Uhura's eyes.  
"Kirk, are you...?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm oka- I'm fine." His stuttering continues in stark contrast to his façade of normality, and even then his mask is crumbling, his behaviour flighty. Uhura doesn't believe Kirk for a second -- he looks terrible. He's pale as a sheet and his cheeks are flushed and he looks like he's about to cry.  
"You sure? You look really shaken. Did you have a nightmare? Anxiety attack?" She knows she's prodding and pressuring Kirk to open up, but she doesn't stop. He obviously can't keep everything to himself. Now Kirk has suspicion shining brightly in his eyes, shadows from the lights making him look more small than he is. She raises an eyebrow at Kirk and he makes a thinking face.  
  
She's hoping, actually, that by not stating his obvious panic attack directly and instead being just off the mark, he would correct her and open up, but she is proven wrong by yet another hum, neither confirming nor denying her questions. Even as she voices her small yet growing concerns, Kirk continues to stand there, expression blank, closed off and tense. Without thinking she lets her hand fall to his shoulder, meaning it to be a purely comforting gesture between nearly-friends. Besides, Kirk is a tactile creature and physical contact has always been the best way to get through to him. Be that through fights, meaningless claps on the shoulder or that one time she caught McCoy hugging him -- it looks like actions speak to Kirk louder than words.  
  
She doesn't expect for him to flinch away violently, almost as if he's been struck. Kirk seizes up, panic bleeding into his eyes as he analysed her, nearly as if expecting to have to fight. His usually so bright blue eyes are clouded with panic, fear and something like remembrance. Hell, his fists even climb up into the beginning of a defensive stance! Kirk looks like a child that's seen nothing but the bad in the world and Uhura is starting to question if she knows the man at all.  
  
That isn't normal. It isn't normal for _anyone_ , especially _Kirk_. He's a touchy-feely person by nature. Uhura is officially out of her depth and Kirk looks like he is too -- his expression is pinched and his eyes are screwed shut. Even if he has had a panic attack before their conversation, that reaction is _wrong_. That is a trained, _instilled_ reaction, borne purely of defensive instinct and Uhura's mind runs cold as the many situations that could have birthed such a reaction pass through her head.  
  
"Kirk, are you okay?"  
"I'm fine, Uhura." His tone is clipped, detached and cold, and it is gone as fast as it arrived when Kirk continues, "I just need to, uh, go back to my dorm. I've gotta do some w- I gotta go. I need to go. Sorry." He stutters as he rapidly speaks, tripping over his words and running his hand through his hair just a little too aggressively to be normal.  
  
Uhura frowns as Kirk turns away and shoves his hands in his pockets. He starts walking away and she has half a mind to call after him, but she doesn't. She has a vague feeling that the one person who Kirk will let help him is currently hard at work in San Francisco medical. She looks at the building.  
  
Maybe she _can_ help Kirk.


	2. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk is still trying to deal with everything by himself.
> 
> Uhura and Bones aren't going to let him.

Kirk walks -- he hardly walks, he pretty much _runs_ for god’s sake -- until Uhura is out of his view. He exhales a shaky breath and swallows down the sick feeling in his throat. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck in small circles -- a mannerism Bones says he only displays when he is _particularly_ stressed -- as he stops running. The wind has stolen all of his warmth from him and now he is officially _freezing_. His hands are a painful red colour and they ache and tremble. He flexes his fingers a few times to get the blood flowing again.  
  
That was _far_ too close for his liking. Kirk trembles as the last vestiges of adrenaline fade from his system -- he completely _freaked_ when Uhura touched him. Seriously, he was only just able to stop himself from doing something he’d regret.  
  
Uhura probably read his distress like a book. Hell, she picked up that he was freaking out from a single goddamned _glance_ , so he is probably doomed to be interrogated by her at some point. He briefly curses his existence, running a hand through his hair -- he needs to clean it because it is really gross from sweat -- and he takes a deep, calming inhale. If he can get his breathing under control, everything else will follow it.   
  
Before he does anything he needs to control his breathing and his panic because he is probably a gleaming beacon of fear and distress right now. Kirk tugs his hair lightly from where he stands; the ache helps anchor him in reality. He needs to get his emotions in check before people notice how off he’s acting and start asking questions, because if he gets asked questions he will either break down and cry in a corner or have a stroke from the stress - and then Bones would _murder_ him.   
  
And go his thoughts into a frenzied oblivion _again_. Bye, normal thoughts! Kirk puts his face in his hands and groans. He seriously wishes that Bones would just appear next to him and hug him or something reassuring like that. Then Kirk is reminded of other suffocating touches from the Narada incident -- namely, three pairs of hands around his neck -- and he re-evaluates his thoughts. Maybe not a hug then, maybe just some motivational yet harsh words. Bones is good at those.   
  
Kirk stares up into the San Francisco sky, an annoyed expression marring his face as clouds stops him from finding the solace he is trying to find in the stars. His luck is a damned curse, first with the nightmare, then with Uhura, now this? With his luck, it figures that it would be cloudy on the one night he really wants to just go outside, sit down to watch the stars and calm down. It's kind of relaxing to watch the clouds move on by -- sometimes, there are gaps in the clouds big enough to spot the occasional star, sometimes even the moon.

  
Kirk exhales heavily and walks towards the gently moving waters of the San Francisco bay that he’s grown so used to. The noise of water gently moving is impossibly soothing. Absently, he strolls over to an empty bench, falling heavily onto it and knocking the wind out of his lungs. He makes some choked wheeze that would be embarrassing if other people were nearby. He impatiently taps his fingers against the bench as he regains his breath and then sets his mind to clearing up the mess that is his brain. Of _course_ his luck dictates that it's Uhura, a linguist, that he runs into. He would have been able to just pass off his ragged state as a result of stress from his studies and nothing that is important if it was anybody else, but _no_ , it has to be Uhura who catches him at possibly his worst in a while. 

 

He briefly entertains the thought that the universe hates him before writing it off as silly -- if the universe hated him, wouldn't he have died a long time ago? Maybe not. Who knows? Kirk groans loudly. Now he's contemplating the thought that the universe is a sentient being that has its favourites? He's lost it. He is, without a doubt, 100% completely insane. Does Bones have a cure for that one? The country doctor would probably just drink Kirk to sleep and they'd both wake up fine. 

 

Maybe if he just focuses on working through his messy tide of emotions he will be fine? It seems unlikely that it will work, but he can try his damned best to make an attempt. Kirk considers asking Spock for tips on meditation -- the Vulcan probably hates him if that little choking incident is anything to go by, why would he help the man who insulted his mother just hours after her death? -- before remembering that, yes, he is in fact _the_ James Tiberius Kirk, who has the attention span of a goddamn _spoon_. Meditation doesn’t quite look like it'll be his _thing_. Maybe he could talk to Bones or Pike about it -- they have both made it abundantly clear that they'll listen to him. But he can wait until the morning to do that. Sleeping might help Kirk feel a bit better, anyways. 

 

For now, he'll just work on not hyperventilating and dying. Kirk closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, feeling a wave of calm washing over his torn nerves. In, out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Over and over until he does it naturally. The rustling of trees and the rushing of water are amazing -- Kirk grasps at the sounds and keeps them close. A knot of tension unwinds in Kirk's chest and the deep breaths become a little bit easier. Kirk feels like he's recentering himself; tying himself back to Earth. He feels more grounded than he has in a long while. Lots of small thoughts are flickering in and out of existence in Kirk's head and they all feel _tangible_ to him. Thoughts about the Academy are neutral, if a little hollow, thoughts of Bones and Pike are warm and inviting. Thoughts of Nero are uncomfortably hot and restless and give a distinct feeling of infection. Thoughts of _Tarsus_  just hover, suspended in Kirk's head like a drowned body. Kirk hasn't felt this bizarrely in-tune with himself but disconnected from reality before. It's weird. Kirk drags his thoughts back to reality, focusing on the objects around him. The trees sway gently in the crisp breeze and hushed murmurs reach his ears from the campus he had been so eager to flee. 

The wind sweeps his mussed hair to the side and he lets his too-warm hands fall to the freezing surface of the metal bench he sits on. The gentle whispers of the breeze carding through leaves reach Kirk’s ears and he can’t recall a time he has been more appreciative of white noise than now. It is a nice little distraction from his too-loud thoughts. A violent shudder passes through Kirk’s frame and he curses how his panic had forced him to leave his dorm without a coat. Thinking back on it, he really should have grabbed the jacket -- he could spend a little more time outside if he had. His clothes are much too thin for him to be able to comfortably stay outside in the coldness of the night. Kirk lifts his hands and sticks them under his armpits in a feeble attempt to fend off the chill passing through him. He's shivering now and he keeps biting his tongue as his jaw twitches. He thinks back to Uhura -- she is dressed to fend off the cold. Actually... Why is she even up this late? She has classes tomorrow like he does, so surely it is illogical for her to be awake so late. It doesn't make sense that she is going to see someone -- nobody should be awake. Kirk forces himself to stop being a hypocrite; he's awake now, she can be too. Hell, maybe she had a nightmare as well. Kirk breaks himself away from his thoughts and focuses on his body. He's freezing his ass off and at some point he's started humming. It sounds familiar but he can't be bothered to place the song. 

 

He'll have to head back to his suffocating dorm at some point; he rationally knows this. A few loud, panicked thoughts rush through his mind and they are enough to keep him glued to his seat, gazing out upon the San Francisco waters as the moon casts a weak silvery light on it through the clouds. He feels the haze of panic dissipate again under the peaceful quiet embracing him. He huffs out a sigh and watches the vapour vanish from his sight under the semi-cloudy sky. With a frown, he becomes aware of the way his head lazily pulses with the beginnings of a headache and the way his eyelids are really heavy with exhaustion. He tiredly pushes himself off the bench and onto his feet, stumbling a little at the sudden movement and begins walking hazily back to his dorm. He can’t hide from it forever, try as he might. 

 

A small grimace rises to his face as the cold bites into his flesh anew, violent shivers wracking his moon-silhouetted frame as a harsh gust of wind breezes past him. His feet move by themselves as he walks back towards his dorm. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to stop and find somewhere safer that _doesn’t_ smell like his own fear and anxiety, but he keeps aimlessly walking anyway. He is cold and he can't stay out for much longer, so as much as he doesn't want to, going back to his dorm is his best option. Kirk stuffs his hands in his pockets despite how thin the material of his trousers are and walks a little faster as the dorm building comes into his sight. Kirk shivers, teeth chattering. He bites his tongue again and he muffles an exotic curse. He yawns loudly, cursing his brain for waking him up so late at night. It's so damned cold and it is so goddamned late -- he has to teach another class tomorrow, he is going to die -- and he is so _tired_. Tired of not sleeping, tired of the nightmares, tired of the stress, tired of everything. He just wants to climb into his bed, be held comfortably and go to sleep for maybe a few years while the world goes on without him. He just wants to sleep and apparently he can’t even do that freely now. It has been years since any of his nightmares have been this bad, since Tarsus even, and now they're back because of some crazy, time travelling Romulan from the future? Kirk bets his mom didn't expect that from him when he was born. Speaking of, he hasn't spoken to Winona in years. He wonders if she's okay. He also wonders if she knows that he helped kill Nero -- she probably does, no matter how top-secret it is. Hey, he had to inherit his skills with a computer from someone. 

 

Still though, by any given standards his life so far has definitely not been normal. ‘Normal’ isn’t a word that even Kirk would apply to himself at any time, ever. Kirk huffs an exasperated breath and drags his thoughts back to the conscious world. The quiet murmurs he has been tuning out subconsciously are louder now and he blinks owlishly at the building in front of him. He blinks again and realises that he must’ve been lost in his own thoughts for a lot longer than he thinks he was because if he kept walking for a few minutes longer his face would’ve become very well acquainted with the door to the dorm building, and not in any pleasant way. Kirk shivers again and throws open the door, sudden heat engulfing him like the warmth of a fire in winter as he steps into the dimly lit building. Even less people are visible than they were earlier, which probably means he should head to bed and try to get some sleep before he has to teach a class of highly intelligent, well-rested people. 

He is so screwed not even Pike can save him, but with the threat of exhaustion looming over his head he can’t bring himself to care about how absolutely and completely _fucked_ he is. 

Dazed blue eyes rake across the empty hallways and Kirk once again finds his legs moving by themselves towards his dorm. The small yet bright lights are blinding to Kirk’s eyes and he can just see the shadows playing in his peripheral vision as he sluggishly trudges through the corridor. The walls are dully coloured, which is a godsend. Kirk honestly thinks if the walls were brightly coloured he'd have a goddamned  _seizure_ , which would fix his teaching problem but would also make Bones murder him. Again. Kirk can feel his eyelids being pulled down by the tug of sleep and he hastens his pace back to his dorm. It will suck if he passes out in a corridor -- he’ll never live it down. Kirk pauses in front of his door, typing in the code and promptly throwing himself onto his bed. The room is still dark, dark, _dark_ and it swallows Kirk whole, leaving him to drown in his already growing panic. Kirk shakes his head, burying it in his pillow and groaning. He breathes quietly in through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose, out through his mouth until the haze of panic recedes back to whichever hell it came from and leaves Kirk’s mind clear. It doesn’t seem so bad now. He's pulled more stupid things than _teaching_ on less sleep than he has now, so it's likely he will be a little slow, but fine altogether. He’ll be fine because people are expecting him to be. He’ll be fine because he doesn’t have a choice otherwise. He’ll be fine so he doesn’t let anyone down. Kirk sits up lazily and walks to the window. From where he is, it all seems calm. The dreary clouds still blanket the sky but it seems less threatening now. Kirk _feels_ less threatened too and the tiredness he should have been feeling finally catches up to him. Kirk drops onto his bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

 

* * *

Uhura watches as Kirk leaves. 

 

There's an oddly hollow sensation taking over her chest as she watches Kirk fade into the distance. Her expression pinches. Kirk seems so different now that she can't link the man she just saw to the cocky, arrogant cadet she thought she knew last month. So much has changed in such a small amount of time and she's beginning to question if she ever really knew Kirk; the man she knows has never been so... catatonic... in the three years she's known him. This Kirk is something different, something broken and fragile.

She can't shake off the implications of his flinch earlier -- why does Kirk, someone so friendly and _together,_  seem so broken now? She remembers how he has acted since the Narada incident -- he looks  _dead_. Pale skinned, haunted eyes... She wonders why he still acts broken now. And the flinch! Uhura has the luck to say that, before today, she has never seen anyone react so violently to a reassuring touch. She remembers perfectly the panicked look in Kirk's eyes after her hand made contact with him and something sorrowful aches in her heart. He looked like a broken child in that moment; like he had only seen the worst of what life has to offer. What happens to a man to cause that kind of instinct...? She definitely doesn't want to think about it.

 

The only thing that's happened recently that has the potential to cause this type of trauma to him is the incident with Nero. She doesn't think he's coping with the Narada incident, and he has the right to be emotional. That was the man who killed his _father_. Uhura originally thought that the defeat of Nero would be something hugely reassuring for Kirk --  he avenged his dad! But for weeks now, Kirk has seemed... off. In all their classes, his mind only ever seems half there. Kirk's been jumpy, unsociable and whenever someone talks about the incident, he leaves the room immediately. It's abnormal behaviour, even for him. She's noticed that McCoy is beginning to get even more worried about Kirk -- he let it slip to Uhura after a few drinks that Kirk's showing all the signs of textbook PTSD and he is _losing_ _it_ worrying about him -- Kirk won't talk to anyone about anything and from what Leonard told her, it's eating him alive. Uhura lists everything she knows about Kirk (admittedly, not a lot) and yeah, he is linked to the Narada disaster enough to have some serious issues from it. Facing down the man who killed his father? That more than qualifies. Uhura decides that Kirk definitely is allowed to have some issues after this debacle -- they all do.

 

Loathe as she is to admit it, she's beginning to worry about Kirk. He should be recovering by now, but the wounds just seem to be festering and getting worse. She and Kirk didn't get off to a good start, they have both acknowledged this to each other. There isn't really any love lost between the two. Any time either of them -- usually Kirk -- tries to build a bridge between them, it is burned down quickly. Until now, apparently. She's been concerned about Kirk since he shut himself off to the world on the _Enterprise_ , burying himself in his work and hardly keeping himself alive. It was then that she started to realise that Kirk isn't as shallow as he has lead her to believe. But now...? She knows there is more depth to Kirk than he lets on to anyone and she wants to understand him if she is to serve under him at some point. 

 

Uhura shakes her head. She hasn't moved since Kirk left -- she can't even see the dot that was him now. She shoves her hands roughly in her pockets to regain the feeling in them. They're a little numb. She turns to face San Francisco medical and makes up her mind. Maybe she can rebuild the bridge between her and Kirk by getting McCoy? It's a good way of starting up a working relationship, at least. Resolutely, she turns and enters the building. The lights are bright and it's a pleasant change from having to stumble around in the dark like she did outside. Uhura approaches the receptionist and rests her arms on the smooth surface of the desk there.

"Hi. Sorry I have to be so blunt, but do you know when Doctor McCoy will be available? I have to discuss something urgent with him." Uhura speaks. The receptionist types something in on her console and looks back up at her. The lack of noise in the clinic is a little bit disturbing to Uhura, but ultimately it's a nice thing -- everyone's been so loud recently.

"Doctor McCoy will be free in about ten minutes -- he's just come out of emergency surgery, he's making himself presentable again. Do you want to leave a name and I'll message him?" The receptionist informs her, tapping away at her console again. Nyota just nods, drumming her nails against the desk.

"Yes, that would be appreciated. It's Nyota Uhura." Uhura says. The woman types her name in and fires off the message, so Uhura goes to an empty seat and slumps in it. She briefly wonders if Kirk has made it back to his dorm safely. Uhura unwraps her scarf and leaves it on her lap. She lets herself think -- it's only by chance that she ran into Kirk. In reality, she was just coming back from Spock's -- no matter what the Vulcan says, he definitely does appreciate her helping him cope with the emotions from his mother's death -- when she ran into him. And now this is happening and she's helping a man that, three years ago, she despised. Oh, how time changes things. Uhura is dozing on the surprisingly comfortable chairs when she finally notices McCoy dropping to a crouch in front of her, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

"Earth to Uhura? Can you hear me?" 

"Yes, I can hear you, Doctor." Uhura gripes. She's more tired than she remembers being. McCoy looks like he's about to collapse though, so she can't really complain to him. She can see concern in McCoy's tired hazel eyes and she can easily read the tension and exhaustion in his body language. It must be exhausting working in a clinic like this at a  _time_ like this. 

"Don't call me that, I'm off duty. It's Leonard." McCoy grumbles. Uhura snorts -- it's like the man is terminally angry or something! McCoy's comm chirps and he starts grumbling again. She catches a fair few insults and curses, but nothing that would tell her who he's talking about. It's still funny to listen to and she laughs a little bit in her seat.

"Why can't I call you Bo-" She starts, still laughing. She's getting a little hysterical now. She thinks her exhaustion is catching up to her _fast_. 

"Because that's a nickname _Jim_ stuck to me against my will. If anyone else uses it, he'll hunt them down. Besides, Jim's the only one who I'll let call me Bones." Leonard states. Uhura's eyebrows fly up; she thought McCoy was the one stopping the nickname from spreading. Apparently not. She never took Kirk for the type who would get possessive but, hey, she learns something new every day.

"Okay?" 

"Yeah. So, what do you want? You ill? Is Spock sick or something? You gotta throw me a bone here, I'm not a mind reader." McCoy is swinging his arms at his sides now, relaxing some of the tension from his posture. Uhura watches the almost hypnotic motion.

"No, I'm fine. Spock's fine too." 

"I've heard that one before from an asshole who was going into anaphylactic shock. Try again." He deadpans. Uhura has a vague feeling the 'asshole who was going into anaphylactic shock' is Kirk. McCoy tells her that it _was_ in fact Kirk a second later, and she starts laughing all over again. It's amusing to see how close McCoy and Kirk are, they're basically brothers from what she can see. Their closeness makes Uhura hesitate in telling McCoy about his brother in all-but-blood's panic attack.

"I think we should go somewhere more private." Uhura mumbles into her coat. McCoy gives her a serious look. It's weird to see the grumpy expression melt off of his face and give way to something sombre and stern. He stands up and gestures for her to follow him. They walk into an empty room and McCoy locks it, sitting down on a chair. The room is the same white as the rest of the hospital but a little darker, and guessing by the sparse decorations and personal items in the room, it's McCoy's office. The doctor looks like a consultant now, leaning forward in his chair with his arms on the glass top of his desk.

"What's he done?" McCoy blurts. Uhura gapes -- how did he figure it out so fast? Does this occur so frequently that he knows a situation when he sees one, or is it an instinctual feeling? It's interesting though. Despite how disheveled McCoy is, he's still looking out for Kirk.

"What?" McCoy's eyebrow raises. Alongside his particularly tired face, it's a hell of a look and Nyota snorts again. 

"Jim. What's he done?" Leonard says again. He's looking her over with a clinical eye. It's slightly unnerving to be looked at in such an unblinking, completely focused manner.

"How did you-" 

"If you're not in here for you or someone else you know, you have no reason to be here. Also, if you were here for you, you could've gotten another doctor. So there has to be something we have in common for you to get me specifically," McCoy pauses for breath, staring Nyota in the eyes, "and that something is Jim. Now, what's he done?" Nyota chews her lip and looks at the floor. 

"I think he had a panic attack. I was walking back from Spock's when I saw him leaving this building, so I walked up to him and started talking. We spoke for a few minutes and he looked terrible, so I tried to reassure him. But when I tried to pat him on the shoulder, he flinched and looked at me like I just punched him. He ran off quickly after that. I thought I should come and tell you, because you're his dorm mate and you're who he came in to visit." Uhura explains gently, watching as McCoy's expression flickers between sorrowful and murderous. Seeing as those two particular emotions are opposite, it's interesting to see how he pulls it off.

"Damn it. God fucking damn it." He growls, rubbing his temples with the heel of his palm. Nyota can see a little vein popping out in his neck and she grows alarmed. That can't be a healthy response. 

"Leonard?" 

"I pulled him out of academic duty today and made him sleep." He says like it explains everything. Uhura's face scrunches up in confusion. 

"So?" 

"I shouldn't have left him alone." 

"Why? Kirk's a grown up, he can take care of himself." Uhura mutters. She's starting to get annoyed now -- Kirk is as old as she is, he doesn't need baby-sitting.

"Not recently he can't. Look, Uhura, you wouldn't have come here if you didn't care, so I'm gonna tell you some things. Jim will end me if he knows you know, so you can't tell him, okay?" McCoy looks guilty now, rubbing his hands together in his lap. 

"My lips are sealed." Uhura smiles, making a zipping motion across her lips. McCoy looks pleased with that, but still guilty. 

"He's not okay. Ever since Nero, he's been having nightmares. Panic attacks. Those times he wondered the halls of the _Enterprise_ at night looking like a ghost were because he woke up screaming and it fucking hurts to listen to. He always wakes up catatonic because he doesn't know where he is. He's hardly ever mentally  _here_  anymore and it's because he hasn't tried coping with what's happened. I think he's suppressing everything he felt because he doesn't know how to work with his feelings. Nobody ever taught him how to cope when these things happen, so he's taken everything that happened with the Narada and locked it away nicely in his head." McCoy explains, gesturing at his head and frowning. 

"Why would he do that? Surely he can just come to you and talk about it." 

"He doesn't want to. Jim's always had some shitty ideology that if he doesn't carry the weight of the universe on his shoulders, he's weak. He's so tight lipped that I _still_ know next to nothing about his life before Starfleet. He's a stubborn little shit a lot of the time and he doesn't open up a lot. Pike knows more about Jim than I do -- he got to see Jim's record before it _mysteriously_ got hacked closed. Jim won't tell me and Pike doesn't want to betray Jim's trust, so we're at a stalemate. Anyway, Jim won't come and talk to me about these things unless he's really desperate or on the verge of a breakdown. He's always struggling with something and he isn't letting me help him." McCoy says sadly. Uhura thinks back to Kirk. 

"He came here to talk to you and he's had a panic attack. I think, of your two statements, he's on the verge of a breakdown." 

"Yeah. I think something else is fucking him up as well, but I won't force him to tell me that just yet. For now," McCoy stands, swinging his jacket over his shoulders, "I'm gonna go take care of him. He's probably about to do something stupid again." Uhura stands too before she quickly hugs McCoy. The doctor looks bewildered for a few seconds before he awkwardly pats her back in return. Uhura turns to leave the room. 

"Thank you for telling me, Uhura."

"Any time, Leonard. And call me Nyota. Uhura makes me feel too responsible." She says with a smile. She gets to see McCoy laugh before she turns and leaves the room. The clinic is deserted as she leaves it quickly --  after all, it's late and she has to teach tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

McCoy watches as Uhura leaves. Given her history with Jim, he didn't expect her of all people to tell him about the kid's panic attack, but he's appreciative nonetheless. At least he actually knows that Jim isn't okay. The stupid kid never would have told him otherwise. He practically runs out of the clinic, shouting a goodbye to the tired part-time receptionist working the night. 

 

The weather is surprisingly nice outside -- the clouds are thinning and stars are shining through; the moon is waxing bright enough to give McCoy a decent shadow and light to see by. This is exactly the type of night that Jim likes best, McCoy muses. If he knows anything about his best friend, it's that any time that's late is perfectly fine to wake up at as long as there are plenty of stars for him to gawk at. Jim's always had his head up in the stars and, ironically, the kid seems to have his own gravity. Lord knows Jim burns like a star, too. He burns bright and strong and shines light on people, even when they don't want it. Jim is like the sun in his life too -- he met the kid when the world was dark and only looked like it was gonna get darker, and now he's got the potential to be the CMO of a starship. So yeah, maybe Jim is a positive influence. But that doesn't stop Leonard from being scared for him. A sun can only burn so bright for so long before it sputters out and dies. He fears that's what's happening to Jim now. The kid has worked so hard since he faced down the man who killed his goddamned  _dad_ and he hasn't given himself a second to rest since. Work, work, work, that's all Jim does now. It's scary to look at him now because he's always so pale and looks so ill. 

 

Maybe he is ill. But it isn't a malady of the body, it's a malady of the mind. Leonard doesn't know all the exact details of what happened during the Narada mission because he was holed up in sickbay for most of it, but the bruises he found on Jim afterwards didn't paint a pretty picture. And Jim still hasn't told him everything that happened. Leonard has a feeling that it's because he wants to show the Admiralty that he's worthy of being captain again. Every time Leonard goes to talk to Chris, the older man always tells him the same thing:  _Jim doesn't feel like he's good enough._ Leonard is stuck picking up the pieces of his friend, which he doesn't really mind doing. It's putting Jim back together after every confrontation that he doesn't want to keep doing -- surely the kid knows that he is so  _good_ that he doesn't need to run himself into the floor? Len doesn't think Jim actually knows this though, either because he's too modest or nobody has really taken the time to tell him this in his life. Either way, Leonard's getting very close to knocking some sense into Jim. Seriously, what does he have to do to convince the kid that he doesn't need to destroy himself? Create a slideshow with all the good things about him on it? Maybe he should. Maybe then Jim could finally realise how amazing he is -- earlier on in the day, in tactical analysis? Leonard definitely couldn't plan and predict the strategies of his opponents as quick as Jim did. Hell, he doubts that  _Spock_ could strategise as well as Jim can. Planning strategy is as much logic as it is emotion and understanding, and Jim is gifted in all three. And that's just one of the kid's best qualities! Leonard could go on and on! 

 

Leonard keeps up his jog back to his and Jim's shared dorm. The light of the moon is a good guide; easily illuminating the entire way back. The silvery light is ethereal and crazily similar to the reflection of light from a mirror. He's surprised he can still hear snippets of conversations as he runs past people. He has exactly no idea why they aren't asleep or studying but if he's learnt anything from the academy, it's that the geniuses never sleep. He runs past the small crowd of people and nears the block of buildings his and Jim's dorm is in. He slows just in time to open the door and starts a brisk walk to their room. The halls are completely void of life and it goads Leonard to move faster. He punches in the code to their dorm and bursts in to meet - 

 

Silence. 

 

Leonard throws his coat off and it lands on top of his bag near his bed. The door closes behind him and he looks at Jim's bed. Sure enough, the kid genius is present but asleep. Leonard walks over to the bunk and perches on it, petting Jim's hair. The room is dark and quiet asides from Jim's breathing. 

"Come on Jim, you need to wake up." Leonard cooes, grabbing Jim's hand and massaging warmth back into his fingers. Jim moans and stirs, blearily opening his eyes. One of his hands blindly searches for Bones' other one. 

"B'nes?" Jim whines, finally clutching Bones' other hand. Bones ruffles his hair again and Jim smiles. 

"Yeah, it's me, kid. How you doing?" Jim's face goes half blank at the question and it's confirmation enough of Uhura's statement. 

"I'm good."  Jim mumbles. He curls up against Bones so his head is resting on the older man's thigh. Jim makes a happy noise as Leonard pets his hair again, running his fingers through the blond mess. 

"Y'know, Uhura told me you two bumped into each other. She said you didn't look so hot, Jimmy. I'm not gonna make you talk about it now, but we can talk about it in the morning, okay? You just get some rest now." Jim tenses up after Bones mentions Uhura's name and his muscles refuse to relax. Bones sighs and moves to stand up after he affectionately kisses Jim's forehead. 

"Stay?" And _damn_ , he can't leave after Jim's used  _that_ voice. It's like he's looking at the brother he never had. Leonard smiles.

"Alright, kid. Shuffle up." Bones whispers. Jim scoots into the corner of his bed against the wall and Bones crawls into the gap created. Almost instantly Jim wraps his arms around him and tucks his head into the crook of his neck. Bones hugs back and nestles his head against Jim's hair -- it smells like  _Jim_ , like apples and cinnamon and a hint of vanilla. 

 

He falls asleep with Jim tightly clutched in his arms. 

 

 _Safe_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Such a rare and beautiful thing I have found today: productivity! I'm sorry this chapter is so late.  
> Buuut on the plus side you get some Uhura POV! I hope that makes up for it!  
> Also, I'm giving this story a third and possibly fourth part as well! What will be there is secret... :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little prompt I thought of instead of sleeping. But by the time I finished it wasn't a little prompt anymore. Whoops. Well, it's here now. Enjoy!
> 
> [Update 21/01/18] I'm back from the void! I've updated the fic and made it better and I'm working on a sequel chapter! Maybe even two of them...


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